and turned quickly away, but not quickly enough.
"Tika," he said, his accent thick from living once more among his people, "it is good to see you well and beautiful still. Where's Caramon? I cannot wait to see—Why, Tika, what's wrong?"
"Nothing, nothing," Tika said briskly, shaking her red curls and blinking her eyes. "Come, I have a place saved for you by the fire. You must be exhausted and hungry."
She led him through the crowd, talking nonstop, never giving him a chance to say a word. The crowd inadvertently helped her, keeping Riverwind occupied as they gathered around to touch and marvel over his fur cloak, or tried to shake his hand (a custom Plainsmen consider barbaric) or thrust drinks into his face.
Riverwind accepted it all stoically, as he followed Tika through the excited throng, clasping the beautiful sword of elven make close to his side. His stern face grew a shade darker, and he glanced often out the windows as though already longing to escape the confines of this noisy, hot room and return to the outdoors he loved. But Tika skillfully shoved the more exuberant patrons aside and soon had her old friend seated by the fire at an isolated table near the kitchen door.
"I'll be back," she said, flashing him a smile and vanishing into the kitchen before he could open his mouth.
The sound of Otik's voice rose once again, accompanied by a loud banging. His story having been interrupted, Otik was using his cane—one of the most feared weapons in Solace—to restore order. The barkeep was crippled in one leg now and he enjoyed telling that story, too—about how he had been injured during the fall of Solace, when, by his own account, he singlehandedly fought off the invading armies of draconians.
Grabbing a panful of spiced potatoes and hurrying back to Riverwind, Tika glared at Otik irritably. She knew the true story, how he had hurt his leg being dragged out of his hiding place beneath the floor. But she never told it. Deep within, she loved the old man like a father. He had taken her in and raised her, when her own father disappeared, giving her honest work when she might have turned to thievery. Besides, just reminding him that she knew the truth was useful in keeping Otik's tall tales from stretching to new heights.
The crowd was fairly quiet when Tika returned, giving her a chance to talk to her old friend.
"How is Goldmoon and your son?" she asked brightly, seeing Riverwind looking at her, studying her intently.
"She is fine and sends her love," Riverwind answered in his deep, low baritone. "My son"—his eyes glowed with pride—"is but two, yet already stands this tall and sits a horse better than most warriors."
"I was hoping Goldmoon would come with you," Tika said with a sigh she didn't mean Riverwind to hear. The tall Plainsman ate his food for a moment in silence before he answered.
"The gods have blessed us with two more children," he said, staring at Tika with a strange expression in his dark eyes.
"Two?" Tika looked puzzled, then, "oh, twins!" she cried joyfully. "Like Caramon and Rais—” She stopped abruptly, biting her lip.
Riverwind frowned and made the sign that wards off evil. Tika flushed and looked away. There was a roaring in her ears. The heat and the noise made her dizzy. Swallowing the bitter taste in her mouth, she forced herself to ask more about Goldmoon and, after awhile, could even listen to Riverwind's answer.
" . . . still too few clerics in our land. There are many converts, but the powers of the gods come slowly. She works hard, too hard to my mind, but she grows more beautiful every day. And the babies, our daughters, both have silver-golden hair—”
Babies . . .. Tika smiled sadly. Seeing her face, Riverwind fell silent, finished eating, and pushed his plate away. "I can think of nothing I would rather do than continue this visit," he said slowly, "but I cannot be gone long from my people. You know the urgency of my mission. Where is
"Tika," he said, his accent thick from living once more among his people, "it is good to see you well and beautiful still. Where's Caramon? I cannot wait to see—Why, Tika, what's wrong?"
"Nothing, nothing," Tika said briskly, shaking her red curls and blinking her eyes. "Come, I have a place saved for you by the fire. You must be exhausted and hungry."
She led him through the crowd, talking nonstop, never giving him a chance to say a word. The crowd inadvertently helped her, keeping Riverwind occupied as they gathered around to touch and marvel over his fur cloak, or tried to shake his hand (a custom Plainsmen consider barbaric) or thrust drinks into his face.
Riverwind accepted it all stoically, as he followed Tika through the excited throng, clasping the beautiful sword of elven make close to his side. His stern face grew a shade darker, and he glanced often out the windows as though already longing to escape the confines of this noisy, hot room and return to the outdoors he loved. But Tika skillfully shoved the more exuberant patrons aside and soon had her old friend seated by the fire at an isolated table near the kitchen door.
"I'll be back," she said, flashing him a smile and vanishing into the kitchen before he could open his mouth.
The sound of Otik's voice rose once again, accompanied by a loud banging. His story having been interrupted, Otik was using his cane—one of the most feared weapons in Solace—to restore order. The barkeep was crippled in one leg now and he enjoyed telling that story, too—about how he had been injured during the fall of Solace, when, by his own account, he singlehandedly fought off the invading armies of draconians.
Grabbing a panful of spiced potatoes and hurrying back to Riverwind, Tika glared at Otik irritably. She knew the true story, how he had hurt his leg being dragged out of his hiding place beneath the floor. But she never told it. Deep within, she loved the old man like a father. He had taken her in and raised her, when her own father disappeared, giving her honest work when she might have turned to thievery. Besides, just reminding him that she knew the truth was useful in keeping Otik's tall tales from stretching to new heights.
The crowd was fairly quiet when Tika returned, giving her a chance to talk to her old friend.
"How is Goldmoon and your son?" she asked brightly, seeing Riverwind looking at her, studying her intently.
"She is fine and sends her love," Riverwind answered in his deep, low baritone. "My son"—his eyes glowed with pride—"is but two, yet already stands this tall and sits a horse better than most warriors."
"I was hoping Goldmoon would come with you," Tika said with a sigh she didn't mean Riverwind to hear. The tall Plainsman ate his food for a moment in silence before he answered.
"The gods have blessed us with two more children," he said, staring at Tika with a strange expression in his dark eyes.
"Two?" Tika looked puzzled, then, "oh, twins!" she cried joyfully. "Like Caramon and Rais—” She stopped abruptly, biting her lip.
Riverwind frowned and made the sign that wards off evil. Tika flushed and looked away. There was a roaring in her ears. The heat and the noise made her dizzy. Swallowing the bitter taste in her mouth, she forced herself to ask more about Goldmoon and, after awhile, could even listen to Riverwind's answer.
" . . . still too few clerics in our land. There are many converts, but the powers of the gods come slowly. She works hard, too hard to my mind, but she grows more beautiful every day. And the babies, our daughters, both have silver-golden hair—”
Babies . . .. Tika smiled sadly. Seeing her face, Riverwind fell silent, finished eating, and pushed his plate away. "I can think of nothing I would rather do than continue this visit," he said slowly, "but I cannot be gone long from my people. You know the urgency of my mission. Where is
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